


The Skies Are Full of Poisons

by Zabbers



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-06
Updated: 2008-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 02:49:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14559210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zabbers/pseuds/Zabbers
Summary: I wanted to do a meme, but now was not the time, so I asked madmarty for a prompt, something I could write in a hurry, just as an exercise. Which he erm helpfully? Provided. This was the prompt:During the events of The Poison Sky, the Master randomly falls from the Valiant and lands in the Doctor's arms. He has no recollection of anything before falling.





	The Skies Are Full of Poisons

It was not exactly a dignified descent. 

But then, descents rarely are, and the Master had to credit this one with one advantage over any other he had experienced, as the destination at the bottom of it was rather good. If a bit bony.

 _Thump_. "Oof!"

An astonished beat.

"What. ...What?!?!?"

Eloquence never had been the Doctor's strong suit, though he usually managed to fit more words into each breath than the average flubble. Then again, "what-what" would probably have been the best the Master himself could manage if he had tried just then, for he was as nonplussed as his impromptu circus net at having fallen from the sky and landed in his arms.

Unfortunately, this regeneration's spindly chicken legs were apparently not up to the task of sustaining the weight of two Time Lords, and shortly after expressing his astonishment through his best impersonation of a mackerel on the deck of a fishing boat, the Doctor fell over on his delectable arse.

The Master blinked. The air was strangely gritty, but considering that his bypass respiratory system had kicked in, the Master thought it wise not to take in a big gulp in an attempt to taste and analyse it. He did note that the Doctor's eyes, which had presumably been exposed for longer, were taking on a moist and red appearance. The fool would of course be bouncing about trying to remedy the situation instead of removing himself from danger as expediently as possible, preferably to some other space-time coordinates entirely. Safety first, as the humans liked to say. Figuring out exactly why he had just plummeted from the sky like a baby stork (no, that wasn't quite it, was it?), after.

And, yes, peering around, the Master noted a large number of familiar red caps. It was UNIT. That lot of cretins. Clearly, he would have to take matters into his own extremely capable hands. Untangling himself from the Doctor with as much dignity as he could muster, the Master struggled to his feet. He singled out the highest ranking monkey and fixed him with an intent gaze, preparing to exercise a bit of hypnotic suggestion.

He had to admit he relished the idea of applying the personal touch. He'd been cooped up in his flying fortress a little too long. He consciously took in some of the poisoned air, just enough to speak: you will obey me, et cetera, et cetera. 

With a sudden--and delayed--whoosh of wind, a great mass of fabric deposited itself over his head, surrounding the Master and the Doctor in a multi-coloured world. It flopped over and settled gently around them, a nylon and silicone tent, as though they were children playing in their dormitory. 

The Master crossed his arms, parachute radiating from his head like streamers from a long-suffering maypole.

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on Livejournal on the 6 May, 2008.


End file.
